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Saturday, November 1, 2014

Hey all! As some of you may know, I'm a part of Jen McConnel's #Witcherific street team. Well, throughout the month of October, Jen is having a Month of Magic event, where she shares quotes from her books (which are fittingly witchy). I rounded up quotes from the first half of the month here, so today I bring you the rest of the month's quotes!

All the quotes are linked back to Jen's original post, and I typed out the teaser below if you have trouble viewing the image.

There wasn't much information. No one was named as victim, no one was named as accuser, only the date, the name of the woman, the name of her judges, and the location were recorded. It was not unlike countless other pages that Lou had already skimmed and then discarded, yet something kept her from laying the record of the trial of Isobel Key to the side.

A shiver ran up and down her spine as her eyes took in the words, written in precise, scrolling script, "This book belongs to one Isobel Key." The pages were covered with the same neat handwritting; Isobel's handwritting, Lou realized with a jolt. She wasn't prepared for the intimate experience of seeing something written by a person long dead.

Call on Sarasvati when you are struggling to express your truest self. Let this goddess guide your hand as you make your mark upon the world, and revel in the joy of creation just for the sake of yourself.

Trinity ran all year, offered a full curriculum, and consistently sent students on to some of the best universities in the country, but in addition to standard courses, Trinity offered training in witchcraft. Most of the students were legacies, blood witches like me whose parents had attended in their own time. Every now and again a dreamer would make it in. Dreamers were those with magical talent but no magical heritage. Costs to attend Trinity were high, but the alumni were fairly active and money never really stood in the way of a student that sought admission there. I hated everything about it.

Whether of not she was a witch, as the children had begun to claim, the adults couldn't say. They knew that her skill as a healer was legendary, and where just a few years before they had been willing to attribute her talent to the gifts of angels, now they began to wonder of perhaps the devil was involved with Mistress Key.

Now wasn't the time to break down: she had to finish her journey tonight, and maybe once she was securely locked in her hotel room, maybe then she would allow herself to mourn. But she wasn't there yet.

The shouting never came. instead, when I glanced up, Snout suddenly looked away from me and began fiddling with a glass paperweight on his desk. A bead of sweat stood out on his forehead, and it occurred to me that her was nervous. What could possibly make the principal nervous to be around me?

When she was found, the screams of the witch could still be heard all the way from St. Andrews, and the child had her head under a pillow and was clutching the bed frame tightly with both hands. Her cries were not quieted until the fire had died down, and the moment the woman was reduced to bone and ash was the moment her niece stopped her ungodly noise.

Her aunt's gruesome fate haunted her, and she knew there was a fine line between old wisdom and witchcraft. She never trusted anyone enough to reveal the source of her good health, or of her three successful pregnancies, but when she lay dying, she called her oldest daughter to her side, and whispered to her the story of Isobel Key.

Young Alexander especially liked to talk about women. His obsession with Isobel continued to clutch at his mind, but that didn't stop him from forming an opinion of every woman he passed on the street, be she maid or matron. The fairer sex obsessed the man, but none so thoroughly as Isobel.

The Secret of Isobel Key

"I know you think I'm crazy. But did you every think, just for a moment, that there's more than one kind of reality? Not a separate reality, not something you have to choose between, but what if there is a hidden reality? A reality made up of tiny threads of energy, connecting people and places in ways that don't make sense?"

Daughter of Chaos

That night I dreamed of an earthquake: fire and blood, sirens and screams. When I looked down at my hands, they were stained red. I lifted a hand to my brow, then brushed it across my lips and heart. I licked my lips, tasting the metallic tang of the blood, all the while dancing and causing the earth to shake. In the dream, I began to laugh wildly. I woke somewhere between a laugh and a scream. I sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. I rushed from my into the bathroom and shut the door. I examined my face and hands in the mirror under the blindingly bright vanity lights. I couldn't find a trace of the blood from the dream, but when I rinsed my mouth out with a cup of water, my saliva stained the sink red.

FTC Disclaimer

All of the books that we review are either purchased by us, given to us by the author/publisher, or gifted. All opinions expressed are our own and we are in no way paid for writing reviews. We'll state in our review whether the book is from the publisher or purchased/gifted.
All images and synopses in my reviews are taken from Goodreads unless otherwise stated.